this once...

josh and i were at my grandparents cottage just before it was sold away, and we decided to go fishing on the lake at dusk. we had gone into town that morning and paid something absurd like $50 for 3 day licenses--we were catching dinner damn it--and so when the sun set we were prepared. we loaded the canoe with poles and bait and pushed off from the dock, careful to avoid the swimming rock submerged just below the water's surface and straight off the homemade pier. to be honest, i wasn't really convinced we would catch any great shakes. i had been fishing in that lake since childhood without accruing a single memory of my line going taught, of reeling in my prize to show off to all my cousins--to prove that in fact there was a reason I was the oldest grandchild....clearly because I was superior at all things, including fishing. josh however was optimism all the way. except it was optimism without a smile. it was serious optimism. he was a serious outdoors man. i have this one TERRIFIC picture where he's leaning over the side of the canoe scrutinizing the placid body of water for even a single bubble--for any trace of aquatic life. I don't remember seeing a one bubble. evening progressed and the sky began to ink into the lake's horizon. then suddenly there were bats. this freaked me out big time but excited josh who saw it as a sign of feeding time. if the bats were swooping to the water's surface for a buffet of larvae and insects, the fish would be rising to the same occasion. josh was right, he did catch something--by accident. after a bit of casting, he reeled in his line to realize he had a guppy who'd swallowed the hook. the little guy fit neatly in josh's palm, hiss gills working almost as frantically as josh was to release the hook. problem was, the hook was well on its way to the fishes gut. josh worked and worked the hook delicately, stopping every few seconds or so to submerge the baby bass to give him breathing time. this went on for a minute or so, until blood began to issue forth from the gills. i had been growing slowly distraught over the deteriorating condition of the baby fish, but blood was too much. i launched into sobs at the tragedy of a life plucked so haphazardly, and wrung my hands over the maliciousness of fate. and then there was josh, in a canoe on a man made lake with a hysterical woman, trying to save a fingerling who would probably just be eaten by the big guys anyway. eventually the finned creature was freed, and as Josh put him overboard, I put the flashlight on the water. together the two of us watched the bass as he exerted every once of strength left to descend slowly, slowly, out of the penetrating strength of the light, and into the black sludgy depths, probably to die of blood loss or severe wounds. i asked josh to drop me at the dock. i don't know what made me feel worse: the fish, or the pathetic downfall of our best sportsmen intentions.
this story came back to me tonight out of nowhere, and it made me truly happy at first--the absurdity of the situation. but now, after writing through it, i wish that Josh had caught something in Pennsylvania--that would have given him a nice memory in place of the one i hope he still has.